


Phantom

by Lertsek



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreamscapes, Fish out of Water, Growing Up, M/M, Parallels, Slice of Life, like metaphorically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lertsek/pseuds/Lertsek
Summary: Hongjoong feels like he lives in two separate worlds, the problem is the people he cares about only seem to recognize him in one of them.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong & Everyone
Kudos: 16





	Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> Did I really write 8k in less than 2 days only for the storyline event page to just give up on me and for kq to do us dirty with the deadline? Yes, yes I did. Luckily it's all about the friends we made along the way. Hongjoong in this story will attest to that (or not, you'll have to find out yourself).
> 
> Thank you Maren, you do not know who these eight boys are and yet you read and hyped me up until the final 8000th word.

**_Phantom_ **

noun: **phantom;** pluralnoun: **phantoms**

a figment of the imagination.

_"he tried to clear the phantoms from his head and grasp reality"_

“I’m gonna get you!” Yeosang yells with a wide grin that completely contradicts the threatening way in which he holds his makeshift sword out to Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong doesn’t blame himself for laughing, one of Yeosang’s front teeth is missing so he can’t really take the threat seriously. Still, he pretends to be scared. 

“Please spare me oh king of pirates.” 

Yeosang looks delighted on top of the little platform above the slide on which he stands. “Can’t do that Hong, you entered my ship without permission and now you will pay!” 

Hongjoong knows he means it—Yeosang is simply not one for empty threats—so he jumps off the slide and starts running to find cover. It’s in vain though, because something hits him square in the back, causing him to stumble. 

When Hongjoong falls to his knees dramatically with a screech he sees it’s not the wooden stick that Yeosang threw at him, but a shoe. He wants to laugh again and deems it wise to just faceplant into the ground so Yeosang can’t hear his giggles and throw another shoe to finish the job.

On top of the slide, Yeosang is celebrating, and Hongjoong doesn’t have to look to know he is jumping and pumping the stick—the makeshift sword—into the air in victory. 

“Aren’t you going to try again?” Yeosang asks him after he has calmed down. 

Hongjoong thinks it over, tightens his grip on his own wooden sword. “Depends, are you going to throw a shoe again?” he asks, sitting back up so he can look at Yeosang. 

Yeosang doesn’t meet his eyes. “No,” he says. Which means yes. Hongjoong knows as long as Yeosang still has a shoe on his foot there is still the possibility of it being thrown at him. Yeosang knows Hongjoong knows this. Yeosang also knows Hongjoong will agree to try again anyways. It’s Hongjoong’s game, after all, one he thought up after seeing the scenario play out in his dreams so many times. 

“Do you want to be the leader of the pirates this time?” Yeosang asks him. 

“Nah,” Hongjoong says, “I think I’m better as the villain.” 

He pushes himself off the ground and takes on a fighting stance which mostly consists of having his sword drawn behind him and his own toothy grin on display. He picks up Yeosang’s smelly sneaker in his other hand and deems himself ready for war. 

“You can’t use my own weapon against me!” Yeosang cries. 

“Watch me!” Hongjoongs shouts back and charges ahead to the slide, determination set into his bones.

With a warcry, Hongjoong runs up the slide, using its sides to hoist himself up when it gets too steep. He dodges the other shoe thrown at him—way off target and meant more as a warning—and charges on. 

When he finds himself face to face with Yeosang, he is distinctly aware of the wooden plateau under his feet. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he finds it strange it isn’t swaying as a real boat would. Hongjoong chalks it up to him just being really into the roleplay. 

His stick clashes with Yeosang’s and for a second he thinks he is holding a real sword, forged from steel, deadly. He thinks he can hear the wind in his ears and that he can smell the salt of the sea. Its vividness drops away with his next breath as Yeosang yells at him that today will be his last. 

They stumble on the little platform, the shoe Hongjoong was still holding goes flying when it’s more of a bother than an actual shield. 

They yell in delight and faked fear and Hongjoong sees the misstep Yeosang takes before the boy actually makes it. He puts his socked foot down on the slide and loses his footing, arms flailing, and his scream this time not meant to impose fear on anyone other than himself. 

Hongjoong drops his stick and reaches for Yeosang but it’s already too late, the boy is stumbling backwards and then he’s falling and Hongjoong can’t do anything but look at how Yeosang tumbles to the ground. 

Hongjoong’s feet move on their own, running down the slide and stopping next to his friend. Fear grips his heart for one terrible, ungodly second, but then Yeosang looks up at him and smiles and Hongjoong can see that he is still only missing that one front tooth. 

He sighs in relief as Yeosang tries to sit up. Crouches down to assess if there is any damage. 

Yeosang finds it before Hongjoong does, feeling next to his left eye and his fingers coming back with blood on them. His eyes turn saucer size wide.

“Oh shit,” he says. 

“Oh shit,” Hongjoong agrees, he shakes the oncoming dread of having to tell their parents out of his head and instead helps Yeosang stand. “Does it hurt?” 

Yeosang dusts off his pants. When he rises back to his full height Hongjoong can see the unshed tears in his eyes. “A bit.” He pouts when his fingers touch the spot again and come back with new blood on them. 

Hongjoong wraps an arm around Yeosang and looks around for the discarded sneakers. “Let’s get you to Misses Kang, she’ll fix you up.” 

Yeosang nestles himself into Hongjoong’s side and keeps his eyes down on the pavement as they stumble their way home, fake swords long and forgotten alongside their fake ship. 

Hongjoong wishes he could forget about it completely. Move on and dream of something new that he and Yeosang can act out the next time they play pretend. Something about knights and dragons or humans with superpowers that make them strong or invisible. 

But, like every night, when he falls asleep he sees the water, the masts, the real hardwood of the boat. He dreams of heavy waves and dolphins swimming alongside his ship. He feels the ship’s wheel in his hands and it fits like it belongs, like _he_ belongs.

When he wakes he can’t remember the names and faces of his crew, the only thing he knows for sure is that one of them carries a birthmark next to his left eye. 

⧖ 

It’s Friday evening and it’s raining. Hard. The poncho his mother made him wear despite his protests is sticking to his skin and Hongjoong knows even with the extra cover his clothes will get soaked. 

The rain doesn’t bother him, at least that’s what he tells himself when he cycles to the next block, his panniers still half full. Hongjoong wishes he was a pessimist at times like these. Could wrap his head around the thought that his bags are half empty and not half full. But that’s simply not his nature. 

The rain hits his face sharply as he navigates his bike onto the sidewalk. When he steps down, a large gust of wind almost blows him and his bike into the air. Hongjoong steels himself, he has one hand on the saddle and the other on the left handlebar as he tries to hold his own against mother nature. He emerges victorious and quickly grabs one of the newspapers out of the bags, hurries up the steps of the house, and enjoys a few seconds of the sky not pouring bucket after bucket down on him as he finds himself under a portico. 

The wind chime that hangs from the ceiling of the little roof is swinging wildly from side to side. The metal sticks bumping into one another forming a new element of sound to accompany the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. 

Hongjoong drops the newspaper on the doormat and turns back around to where the sky still seems to be crying its heart out. He makes sure the hood of his jacket is still securely placed over his head and braces himself. Hongjoong counts down from three and rushes as fast as he can down the steps to his bike while trying not to slip. 

Yeosang hates it when Hongjoong works rainy evenings. Partly because those evenings are a perfect excuse to play video games into the late hours of the night and partly because—even if he will never admit it—Yeosang cares about Hongjoong and his wellbeing. But he also knows why Hongjoong does it, why he drags himself out of the house even when it storms. Hongjoong has a dream, lots of them actually, but his current one is to save up for a camera to kick start his career as a director. 

And with that dream in mind, he runs back to his bike to grab the next newspaper for the neighboring house when he feels something, or rather someone, crash into him. Gravity doesn’t seem to be on Hongjoong’s side because he flies a couple of paces backward and lands flat on his ass on the wet sidewalk.

“Fuck!” he curses. The stranger muttering something along the same lines that Hongjoong can’t quite make out. 

The first thing Hongjoong notices when the stranger approaches him is that it almost looks like a tree is looming over him. Hongjoong got the short end of the stick when it comes to height, this boy obviously did not. The second thing Hongjoong notices is the outstretched hand and the apologetic smile that accompanies it. 

Hongjoong reaches out to take the offered help but stills once his hand grips that of the stranger’s. 

The loud sound of a cannon being fired, twice, no, three times overtakes his senses. Gunpowder is thick in the air and being carried through the smoke. A hand is pulling him onto a ship Hongjoong knows not to be his own. Water splashes around him as some shots miss their mark. One cannonball flies into the wood of the ship where he was just hanging on for dear life. It makes everyone stumble and he feels the hand that helped him up grab hold of his shoulder to stabilize him. Hongjoong doesn’t look over the railing to see the damage, instead turns to the big shadow looming over him and—

“Do we know each other?” Hongjoong asks, eyes suspicious as he stares the stranger down, quickly pulling his hand out of the grip. 

The smile of the boy slips over from friendly into confused. 

“I don’t think so?” he says, absolutely no trace of recognition on his face. His eyebrows draw together in concentration. 

Hongjoong decides to switch the topic. “What were you in such a hurry for?” 

It’s like a switch is flipped inside the boys’ head. Suddenly he is scrambling again, patting his pockets and then the sidewalk, saying _shit shit shit._

“My friend, Mingi,” the boy starts, “the dumbass left his phone at my house and he’s taking the train back to his hometown tonight and _fuck.”_

Hongjoong pushes his wet hair out of his eyes and scans the ground for a phone, his eyes landing on a black box that seems to have fallen off the curb and onto the concrete of the road. 

“Is that…” he starts. 

The stranger’s head whips over to where Hongjoong is pointing, quickly stumbling over to what Hongjoong makes out to be a black Samsung when the boy holds it up like a trophy. 

“Thanks,” the boy says happily, trailing off when he doesn’t know exactly _who_ he is thanking.

“Hongjoong.” 

“Yunho,” the stranger offers in return. 

Somewhere deep down, Hongjoong feels another pang of recognition.

“Do you want a lift?” The offer is out of Hongjoong’s mouth before he can even start to consider the words. It seems to take the boy by as much surprise as it does Hongjoong.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t want to be a bother and,” he glances to Hongjoong’s bike still perched on its stand, “you were clearly busy.” 

Hongjoong thinks about his half-full bags of newspapers that are certainly not getting any drier, and neither is he. Only now does he notice that the boy that crashed into him is wearing nothing but a thin windbreaker, how he is not yet shivering is beyond Hongjoong. 

“I’m sure,” Hongjoong says, meaning it. He points a finger at Yunho. “But you’re pedaling.” 

Yunho takes on the task he is given with both hands and swings himself onto the bike. He puts the phone into the pocket of his jacket and zips it up. Holding out his hand again to Hongjoong when it’s safe and secure. 

Hongjoong takes the hand, and while he positions himself onto the baggage carrier of his bike he tries to ignore the taste of ash in his mouth. 

⧖

Hongjoong is the one that’s in a hurry this time, taking the shortcut through the basketball court to still at least _try_ and be twenty minutes late instead of thirty. For his fourth period. 

It’s just that he had fallen asleep somewhere around 5 in the morning, the new beat making software he finally succeeded in pirating that night still ready to go when he woke up somewhere around noon. Completely distraught and with the feeling of water being stuck in his throat, he had taken one look at his alarm clock and sprinted to find his uniform. 

He dodges a stray basketball and realizes that he forgot to take lunch with him, and his books, and actually, his entire backpack is still sitting on the kitchen table ready for the day. Very much unlike Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong lets himself stop for a second to think and consider if it’s worth going back to get his stuff or if he should just keep running. 

He’s about to just continue his sprint when he hears a camera shutter go off in what he assumed was an empty park. Hongjoong whips around instantly, trying to see where the sound came from and his eyes land on a boy slightly hidden from view by the afternoon shade. 

Hongjoong’s eyes fall on the big camera in the hands of the boy and then on the crutches placed next to him on the bench, Hongjoong’s brain connecting them to the cast on the leg of the boy.

“Sorry,” the kid starts, “I didn’t think it would be so loud.” 

Hongjoong tilts his head to the side consideringly, “So you’re just sorry about getting caught?” 

The question causes an instant flush to creep over the boys’ neck from embarrassment, still he squares his shoulders and says, “When you see something beautiful you simply can’t _not_ take a photo.” 

Now it’s Hongjoong’s turn to blush. But before he can get out a response the boy is asking him a question, “I mean where did you even buy the thing?” 

“What?” Hongjoong asks, confused. 

The boys’ grin is big, like he knows a secret Hongjoong doesn’t. “Your jacket, dummy, it’s fucking awesome.” 

Hongjoong doesn’t even know what he had for breakfast this morning—probably because he didn’t actually have time to eat anything before he was rushing out the door and oh god the hunger is really starting to catch up—so he has to look down to see that he is wearing one of his own creations. 

“Oh,” he stumbles out, “I didn’t buy it, I made it myself.” 

That makes the eyes of the boy light up even more. “Are you serious?” he asks. 

Hongjoong grins proudly. “Yeah.” The next second he’s being urged forward and the little picture screen of the camera is shoved in front of his face and he’s looking at the back of his own jacket with the words _now you gonna take me there_ painted on it in white, splatters of gold around it. 

“The words, are they from a song?” 

Hongjoong shakes his head no. “Just something I thought sounded cool,” he lies. “Hey!” Hongjoong points out, “you cut my mullet off from the picture.” 

The boy gives him a very painful smile. “No offense,” he starts, “your jacket is cool and all but your hairstyle is… questionable.” 

Hongjoong laughs. Yeosang had the same reaction when they got the chance to video call between their busy schedules. It was the first time they had seen each other ever since his friend had moved away and the first words out of Yeosang’s mouth had been, _Hongjoong what the hell._

But Hongjoong doesn’t mind. He likes his hair, a lot, and that’s what matters. 

Before Hongjoong can ask the boy what he’s doing here his stomach rumbles, loudly. It makes both of them laugh.

“Wait,” the boy says as he digs through his bag, “I think I have something edible in here somewhere.” He fishes an apple out of what seems to be the very bottom of his backpack and hands it over to an eager Hongjoong. 

“Thanks,” Hongjoong says, taking a big bite. 

The boy waves it off. “Don’t mention it, see it as an apology for the picture.” 

“You don’t have to delete it by the way,” Hongjoong says between bites. 

“You sure?” 

Hongjoong shrugs. “I don’t mind. And besides,” he grins, “I’m not giving you the apple back.” 

They sit in silence for a while. Hongjoong swallows another bite down. “Do you always sit here to take pictures of strangers?” 

The boy laughs. “More often than I should.” 

Hongjoong misses his fourth period. And his fifth. And his sixth. He stays until the sun starts to set and the boy grabs his crutches and bids him goodbye for the day. 

When Hongjoong falls asleep behind his computer again that night, he finds himself in a musty bar on the shores of a throwaway port of a town Hongjoong doesn’t know the name of. He hears the telltale sound of wood hitting wood. Someone approaches him out of the shadows and makes their way over to the table Hongjoong is sitting at. They have their hat pulled down low so their face is hidden from view, but Hongjoong doesn’t need to be able to look them in the eyes to know who they are. The wooden leg is a dead giveaway. 

No matter how many times Hongjoong takes the shortcut through the basketball court for the rest of the year, he never once sees the boy and his camera again. 

In his dreams though, a new member is added to his crew.

⧖

Hongjoong doesn’t know what time it is. If he would actually take the time to think about it he would remember what day it is, or what day time has slipped into while he was at the party, but he doesn’t want to think about it. 

He lets himself slink back into the slightly uncomfortable seat in the back of the taxi and is about to close the door when someone stops him. A head pops into view. Hongjoong thinks it’s the lightning or maybe his intoxicated brain that was still smart enough to call himself a cab but no, there really is one stripe of white in this guy’s hair. 

“Okay this is extremely rude,” the guy starts, “and I apologize but do you think we could maybe share the cab? My phone died and I don’t have a charger and—” 

Hongjoong cuts the rambling off, “Sure, dude, no worries.” He slides over to the left side of the car to let the stranger enter. “I gotta go to the Mapo-gu district,” Hongjoong says to both the boy and the cabby, “is that okay?” 

The boy with the pie chart hair flops down into the vacated seat and smiles. “Yes, perfect actually, we’ll split the fee.” 

While the driver starts the engine and the mile counter resets, the boy leans over to Hongjoong. “Thanks so much again, I have practice in the morning and I knew it was going to be a hell of a lot worse trying to catch a ride home even later in the evening, you really saved my ass.” 

Hongjoong waves off the repeated thanks and instead asks, “Practice for what?” 

The boy sighs, “Volleyball.” He says it like the word has caused him a personal offense.

“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Hongjoong notes, trying to turn it into a joke. 

The boy cards a hand through his hair and slips down into the cushions of his seat. “I liked it in high school, a lot, actually, am good at it too. Just didn’t think I’d still be doing it now in college.” 

“Then why don’t you quit?” 

The boy shrugs. “Gotta do something to pass the time.” He groans at the thought of what is in store for him in a couple of hours. “Even on Sunday mornings.” 

Hongjoong can relate to that pain, there are three unfinished tracks that just don’t work on their own waiting for him at home. No matter how much he tries he just can’t get them to work as songs individually, and the task of trying to combine them is daunting. At times like these, he wishes he would have stuck with his childhood dream of becoming a director, but he also knows he wouldn’t give up music for the world. 

“Isn’t there something else you could fill the time with?” Hongjoong asks. 

The boy seems to think it over, turns to look out the window as he answers, “I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance.” 

“Then take a class,” Hongjoong says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

The guy turns back to him, white stripe back on display, Hongjoong thinks maybe he should consider bleaching his own hair again. 

“It’s way too late for that,” the boy laughs, “I couldn’t possibly only start now.” 

Hongjoong raises his eyebrow. “Why not? What’s wrong with starting late?” 

“Nothing,” the guy sighs again, “I just don’t think I’d be any good at it. Wasn’t born with the talent after all.” 

Hongjoong laughs as he remembers the first beat he ever produced himself. It had sounded like shit. But _he_ had been the one to make it, and that’s what mattered. “You don’t need be born with the talent to be good at something, you can develop that talent over time. No one is good at anything when they first start out.” 

He gets a smile from the stranger at his little pep talk, a dimple appearing in the boy’s cheek. “I guess so.” 

The car comes to a stop in front of a traffic light and Hongjoong is about to ask what style the boy is most interested in learning but he stops halfway through his sentence when he sees someone run over the crossroad. Apparently, Hongjoong is not the only one who recognizes the runner. He hears a seatbelt unbuckle and in the next second the person he is sharing a cab with is jumping out of said cab. 

“Yunho!” the stranger yells and follows in his pursuit. 

Hongjoong is also unbuckling his seatbelt and dragging himself out of the cab. “Wait!” he yells. “San wait!” 

San turns back around for one second but doesn’t stop running, disappearing after Yunho. 

There’s honking around him, a loud voice somewhere trying to push its way into Hongjoong’s brain. He can’t make out what they’re trying to tell him. The only thing he feels is wind on his skin. A terrible tearing wind as he leans over the edge of his ship, looking down at where San just jumped after Yunho into the water. 

“San!” he yells again. He doesn’t know _which one_ of him yells it. Maybe both do. The only thing he knows is that his heart only starts beating again when San resurfaces, dragging an unconscious Yunho with him through the water. 

“Pull them up!” someone else yells. A voice that feels familiar and at the same time like one Hongjoong has never heard before in his life. He wants to turn and look who is giving the order but his body is pushed back into something. A car door is slammed. An engine is restarted and a different voice is telling him that he shouldn’t pull stunts like that and that he better tip well for giving someone a heart attack. 

Apologies are flying out of Hongjoong’s mouth on autopilot, he himself not even registering half of what he is saying. His eyes try to find the figures of his friends, but they are long gone, disappeared into the night.

When he gets home he runs over the moment in his head again and again and again. He wants to blame it on the alcohol he had at the party, on a temporary blackout in his brain, a short circuit, but Hongjoong knows what he saw. He just doesn’t know which part is real. 

⧖

Hongjoong finds Mingi at a bar at the airport after a long flight. He’s just come back from Los Angeles where he attended the opening show for a world tour of a band he wrote the debut song for. They gave him tickets and a free flight and really, who was he not to take what was for once in his life handed to him. 

Hongjoong finds Mingi staring down into a dark cocktail with his steward uniform still on, a little blue suitcase next to his barstool. 

Hongjoong finds Mingi in Incheon, but really, it is Mingi who finds Hongjoong. 

The bartender hands Hongjoong a small beer from the tap and Hongjoong mutters a quiet _thanks._

“Your hair,” Mingi says, “it’s red.” 

Hongjoong looks at the boy next to him and then realizes he has seen him before. There are two memories trying to battle for his attention in his head, both trying to drag themselves to the forefront of his mind. 

He remembers the redhead in his crew, who despite the fact that pirates are not supposed to care about how they dress, is the most fashionable of his men. The best liar out of all of them too, which is funny because he is the one who Hongjoong trusts the most besides his right-hand man.

Hongjoong remembers Mingi as a part of his crew, but he also remembers Mingi’s face lighting up when his phone was handed to him by Yunho. Remembers him thanking both Yunho and Hongjoong while the rain was pouring down around them. He remembers Mingi telling him he was forever in his debt. 

“You don’t remember me?” Mingi asks.

It makes Hongjoong laugh, usually he is the one asking that question. He is quick to assure Mingi of the opposite. “No! I do, you’re Mingi, right? Yunho’s forgetful friend?” 

Mingi awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I see Yunho is not the only one who won’t let me live that one down.” 

Hongjoong waves him off. “Nah it’s all good.” 

“Let me buy you another drink,” Mingi says. “Consider it repayment for cycling through a storm to bring me my phone.” 

Hongjoong looks at his still full glass of beer and just like with the free tickets for the concert, Hongjoong finds himself agreeing. “Sure, why not.” 

While Mingi calls the bartender back over, Hongjoong can’t help but ask, “You remember me from the train station, right?”

Mingi nods and laughs, “Yeah. You looked like a soaked rat with your hair sticking to your forehead. Not quite an image I’ll ever forget.” 

Hongjoong bypasses the rat comment. “Just the train station?” 

“Just the train station,” Mingi confirms, “unless we met somewhere in between then and now and I just don’t remember.” 

Hongjoong knows the Mingi in his crew is a good liar, and so naturally assumes the Mingi before him would also be one. But this Mingi isn’t lying, Hongjoong can tell by his eyes. 

Luckily the bartender asks for their new order before Hongjoong digs himself into a deeper hole. By the time another round of drinks is set in front of them, Mingi has already forgotten Hongjoong’s weird train of questioning. 

They talk about Mingi’s job, about the flight from Japan he just came back from and how one customer would not stop calling over the staff to the point Mingi was starting to contemplate homicide. He tells Hongjoong he is glad he didn’t though, sharing a drink with Hongjoong is nicer than going to jail. 

Mingi tells him about the little modeling he does as a side gig, a way to not fall out of touch with his love for clothing. And Hongjoong can see it, the way Mingi’s eyes shine and his face lights up when he talks about fashion. Hongjoong knows that’s what he himself looks like when he talks about music. 

He tells Mingi about his own passion and how it has grown into his actual job over the years, how he’s starting to get picked up by labels that want him to produce tracks for them. 

“You’re living your dream,” Mingi says.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agrees. “I guess I am.” 

At one point Hongjoong takes his jacket off and Mingi catches sight of the lettering on it. 

“You make that yourself?” 

Hongjoong nods. “I made it a couple years ago, when I was still in high school.” 

Mingi smiles. “Are the words from one of your songs?” 

“No,” Hongjoongs says. He almost tells Mingi about another boy that had asked him the same question about this specific jacket, but then remembers Mingi would have no idea who Jongho is. It makes his stomach drop and a sad feeling settle in his gut. 

Mingi seems to pick up on his sudden change in attitude and tries to steer Hongjoong’s thoughts somewhere else. “If the words are not from a song, did you think the phrase up yourself?” 

Hongjoong glances at him. “Kinda.” 

Mingi leans in. “Now I’m curious, you gotta tell me.” 

“Okay but you have to promise not to laugh,” Hongjoong says, already laughing himself at the ridiculousness of his next statement. 

Apparently it’s contagious because Mingi is smiling at him when he says, “Okay. I promise.” 

Hongjoong decides not to lie like he did to Jongho all those years back on that basketball court. Mingi would probably see straight through him anyways. “It came to me in a dream.” 

Mingi bursts out into full-on laughter. Hongjoong joins him. 

“You’re a real character, Kim Hongjoong.” 

Hongjoong smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“It is,” Mingi assures him. He takes another look at Hongjoong and bites his lip, seeming to mull something over. “Do you think I’d look good with red hair?” he suddenly asks.

Hongjoong nods. “You would.” He doesn’t tell Mingi how he knows. 

Mingi takes a sip of his cocktail and finds it’s already empty. “I don’t have your kind of confidence though.” 

“Consider it, I think you would rock red.” Hongjoong pats his shoulder. “Now let me buy you another drink. I think I want a cocktail too,” he says, reaching for the menu to take a look. 

Mingi hurries to say that Hongjoong paying for him goes against his whole settling score thing. They won’t be even anymore. Hongjoong does it anyways.

⧖

Hongjoong enters the restaurant more because he wants to shield himself from the rain and less because he is actually hungry. 

He had gotten caught in a downpour while he was walking home from his studio and the seafood restaurant seemed like a safe haven, even if it would soon be closing time. Hongjoong hadn’t had dinner yet either, so really it was a win-win situation. 

The waiter is kind enough to still get him a seat and the kitchen is kind enough to still get him a hot plate with dried yellow corvina and a bowl with seaweed soup even though Hongjoong knows he will not be able to finish all of it. They send him another side dish in the form of japchae, something the waiter tells him were leftovers and so a shame to just throw away. 

He eats slowly, savoring the taste like he always does with seafood. Orders water and then a coke, opting out of alcohol for the night. The food tastes like the ocean, and for Hongjoong, that means it tastes like home. 

A forlorn home maybe, somewhere far away in a reality that might not even exist outside of his dreams. But it is a place that he likes returning to, there are people there he likes to keep seeing, even if the relationships he shares with them are only confined to his mindscape. 

It comes to him as a surprise that he finds himself getting a bit teary when he digs into the corvina. But he can’t help himself, it tastes so familiar. 

The explanation of this sudden feeling drops down into the seat across from him. 

“Shit weather, ain’t it?” 

Hongjoong’s chopsticks halt in the middle of a big bite and his eyes widen. He looks out the window and sees that it’s still pouring. He slurps up his noodles, takes a sip of coke and says, “Extremely shit.” 

And then, to his extreme embarrassment, he burps. Loudly. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, before his head shoots up and he has apologies flying over his lips. He promptly stops his rambling to take a breath. “I think I’m only making it worse.” 

The person in front of him is grinning. Widely. “Don’t worry, I take it as a compliment.” He unties the apron around his middle and throws it next to him on the bench. 

Hongjoong asks the obvious question. “You work here?” 

“Something like that,” the guy says, “I kind of run the place. At least the kitchens.” 

Hongjoong’s mouth drops open. “You’re the chef.” 

The boy nods. “Hit the nail right on the head.” 

Hongjoong sees him trying very hard not to eye the still half-full plate of fish. He pushes it forward. The boy instantly refuses. “I insist,” Hongjoong tells him. “I can’t possibly finish all this by myself.” 

Cautiously, like Hongjoong will bite if he moves too fast, the boy grabs his own pair of chopsticks and takes a piece of fish. 

“Your job must take a lot,” Hongjoong assumes, looking at the exhausted form before him.

The chef gives him a tired smile. “It does. But,” he says, stealing a bite of japchae this time, “working myself to the bone is completely worth it if I’m honest.” 

“You should be proud,” Hongjoong assures him, “the food’s fantastic.” 

The boy’s grin stretches even wider. “My specialty is lobster, you should come by again and try the pumpkin steamed dish with it sometimes.” 

Hongjoong promises he will. If it’s even better than the dishes he is eating now he can’t assure that he won’t _actually_ burst into tears, so he makes a note to bring tissues with him the next time he drops by. He hopes it won’t rain next time though, or that he’ll at least have a jacket with him, something he forgot when he rushed out of his apartment this morning. At least he remembered to stuff a sandwich into his mouth. Baby steps. 

The boy in front of his sees him scowling out the window. “I brought an umbrella because unlike some people,” he raises an eyebrow at Hongjoong sitting there in just his thin shirt, “I actually looked at the weather forecast this morning. It will be a tight squeeze but we should be able to fit.” 

“You can’t possibly do that,” Hongjoong states. 

The boy looks at him with an amused expression. “And why not?” he asks, almost like it’s a challenge. 

“Well because you have…” Hongjoong looks around at the empty room, “people to feed,” he finishes quietly. 

The chef laughs. “The last customer left a while ago, and the staff,” he eyes the clock, “should be finishing up if not done and out the door already. So to answer you, yes, I can very much help you get home while not getting completely soaked to the bone.” 

The boys’ gaze turns into a squint. “If you don’t live far away that is, I’m not walking you all the way across Seoul.” 

“Just a couple of blocks,” Hongjoong tells him. 

“That’s settled then,” the boy says as he grabs his apron and starts folding it. “Feel free to take as long as you want. Just yell when you’re done, I’ll be finishing up in the back.” 

It all feels so natural. Their banter, their talk, the way they behave around one another. When the boy stands up to make his way to the kitchens, Hongjoong asks to his back, “I feel like we’ve met before, is that strange?” 

The chef turns around with a grin and Hongjoong knows, deep down, that he has seen that exact grin before. 

“You don’t just have a large appetite but also a large imagination, don’t you? Or maybe you just saw that my name tag reads Wooyoung.” 

The speakers switch to a different song, a song Hongjoong is afraid to say he knows. Intimately. He seems to give himself away because Wooyoung explains, “When everyone clears out I change the playlist to one of my own as I lock up for the night. Don’t tell the others though,” he adds. 

Hongjoong pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key. “They won’t get a word out of me about your secret.” 

“Good,” Wooyoung says. As the pre-chorus starts—the words _now you gonna take me there_ booming out of the speakers—Wooyoung throws his head back in delight. “I fucking love this song, you know it?” 

Hongjoong almost laughs, almost. He thinks about his forgotten jacket from this morning and says, “Never heard it before in my life.” 

“You’re missing out then,” Wooyoung throws over his shoulder as he pushes his way into the kitchen. 

“You’ve got no idea,” Hongjoong whispers, looking back out the window, wondering why the chef in his crew has never made octopus before if he claims for it to be his specialty.

⧖

The sun shines bright through the windows of the jewelry shop. Even if it’s hidden away in a back alley, the sun can still reach here and it does so with joy, lighting up the entire store and reflecting prettily off the stones and silver displayed around the room. 

Hongjoong has rushed past this shop a couple of times before while on his way to work, or a meeting, or just something he was late to—probably anything except for his home where his bed is because god knows Kim Hongjoong does not rush to bed. 

There’s no one behind the counter when he enters, a little bell ringing out to announce his arrival. He waits for a few seconds and still, no one appears. The sign had said open though, so Hongjoong steps further into the room and turns in a circle to admire the walls lined with glass cases, storing anything from piercings to necklaces to earrings. His eyes catch on one of the few posters that hang around the store of people modeling some of the collection. 

The poster displays a face Hongjoong very much knows, _actually_ knows, someone that knows of his existence in this world as well. Hongjoong smiles. Song Mingi does indeed look good with red hair. 

When his gaze lands on the counter again he sees the owner has snuck back into the room without him noticing. Hongjoong’s body moves back on instinct as he puts a hand on his chest. “You almost scared me there.” 

He gets an apologetic smile in return and a quiet, “Sorry about that.” 

Hongjoong drifts through the room and takes his time looking around. He lingers a little by the earring section and finds a pair he likes. Black stones placed in a silver hold that almost resembles a sun if the edges hadn’t been so pointy. Hongjoong takes them with him to the counter once he has made another round through the shop.

“Found everything alright?” 

Hongjoong nods as he eyes the shelves behind the register. “Wait,” he says as the owner is ringing the pair of earrings up.

A questioning set of eyes is pointed at him which slowly follow to where Hongjoong is also looking. Out of the corner of his eye, Hongjoong can see a big smile break out over the face of the man. The owner of the store eagerly makes his way to the shelves and stands on the tips of his toes to grab the little box that is open for display. 

When he sets it on the counter, Hongjoong gets a chance to see the bracelet up close. It’s even more beautiful than the earrings he picked out. Small silver rings interwoven with one another and a big ring at the end, sealing the bracelet closed with an engraved rectangle. Hongjoong can’t quite make out what’s written on it, it looks to be just red squiggly lines. 

“How much is it?” he asks. He doesn’t actually need to know the price, already knew from the moment his eyes first landed on it that he would be taking it home with him. 

“Try it on first,” the man behind the counter says, already taking the bracelet out of the box and motioning for Hongjoong to give his arm. 

Hongjoong can’t contain his eagerness and presents his right wrist instantly. The bracelet is quickly locked in place and Hongjoong turns it around to see how the light hits it in different places. 

It’s nothing special, just some rings thrown together with a block at the end with some red on top of it, but it doesn’t feel like nothing special to Hongjoong. To Hongjoong, it feels like he has hit the jackpot. 

He looks up from his wrist and his eyes find a name tag displaying something he already knew. 

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa and he knows, he knows there is recognition there, somewhere buried deep under the confusion and the shreds of the afternoon sun that are slowly slipping away from the insides of the store. 

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa and he knows he has seen the person in front of him before, would be willing to bet his life on it. And maybe his fortune, if he had it in this lifetime. He feels the weight of the bracelet on his wrist and thinks maybe he does. 

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa and his world is shifting out of itself and into another one and because of it the words that Seonghwa speaks don’t register at first. 

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” 

“Huh?” Hongjoong pushes out. He’s the one that’s supposed to ask that question, has been asking it all his life.

Seonghwa gives him a calm smile and tilts his head to the side just slightly. “You seem familiar,” he states, tapping his finger against his chin. 

There is salt in the air and the sound of seagulls above Hongjoong’s head. There is hardwood under his feet and a real sword in the holster on his hip, forged from steel, deadly. The wheel of the ship is in front of him and his right-hand man is next to him advising him to dock at a port instead of to carry on sailing straight into a storm. 

Hongjoong hears himself saying that a little rain won’t be able to stop them. 

It’s like a lightbulb turns on in Seonghwa’s head and he points at Hongjoong. “You’re Kim Hongjoong!” he exclaims. 

Hongjoong nods and slowly a smile stretches over his face. “Yes, that’s me,” he confirms. He feels an invisible weight lift off his shoulders, like he has finally broken free from the restraints that are tying him to this world. 

“Kim Hongjoong the producer,” Seonghwa says. “I love your songs. You produced Horizon, right?” 

“I did,” Hongjoong says and then, “you came up with the name.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes turn into a question. “What?” he laughs. 

“When we bought the ship from Eden and everyone was yelling and Mingi proposed we name it Minki until you put a stop to all the idiocy and coined the name Horizon,” Hongjoong says in a gush. He feels like his face is going to break open from how wide he is smiling. 

“Mingi? Ship? Eden?” Seonghwa laughs again, more nervously this time. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“So you don’t actually remember me?” Hongjoong asks. “Or Wooyoung’s cooking, and Jongho’s late-night songs or that time Yunho fell overboard and we all thought he was dead?” 

Seonghwa shakes his head no. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy.” He holds up his hands. Out of fear, Hongjoong realizes. Seonghwa is afraid of him. “Do you want the bracelet or not?” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says, a sudden despair clawing at his insides. “How much is it?” 

“Free,” Seonghwa says, “just take it, the woman who brought it here said to give it away to the person whose eye it caught.” He pushes the empty box towards Hongjoong and backs away from the counter. There is no laughter in his eyes anymore. 

Outside the sky has darkened, and the first drop of rain hits the pavement.

Hongjoong rushes forward to try to pull Seonghwa back because surely he’s just confused. “You can’t just have forgotten everything,” Hongjoong urges. “The raid during which Yeosang almost lost an eye or the day you assigned yourself to the crow’s nest to conquer your fear of heights. You can’t just have forgotten that, Seonghwa, you can’t. I haven’t.” 

“Leave,” Seonghwa says, nothing but hostility in his voice. His eyes are eyeing a spot under the counter. 

Hongjoong feels like he is in the middle of a storm. He can’t distinguish the water of the waves from the rain anymore. He has long since lost his grip on the ship’s wheel, can’t even seem to relocate its position, doesn’t think it would matter anyway. He thinks he can hear a mast break. 

People are rushing past him with buckets and tiles and someone somewhere is calling his name. He vaguely knows he lost his jacket somewhere in between when the first wave hit and the eighth but doesn’t register it fully as he charges ahead ready to meet the sea head-on. 

The only thing he knows is that the water is cold against his bare arms and that it’s dark, no hint of sun in these depths here where his legs are desperately trying to kick himself away from. Between the pressure on his ears, he hears someone telling him to go, to just leave. Hongjoong doesn’t understand why someone is telling him to give in and drown. He thinks he hears someone yell. Thinks it might be himself.

Hongjoong breaks the surface and feels concrete under his feet and water against his legs and his arms and engulfing his entire body. Rain is hitting him square in the face when he looks up at the sky and his limbs are numb. Another wave washes over him, knocks him off his feet on which he wasn’t standing in the first place and he looks up at the sky but can’t see the sun, can’t see any stars, can’t see anything. 

The world moves in on itself and then detangles again and he reaches for a hand to help him up out of instinct but finds it isn’t there. 

Hongjoong tries to kick himself back up to the surface to take a breath but he can’t. He tries to stay in the present, open his goddamn eyes so he can see what is real and what isn’tbut he can’t. 

He hears a door slam shut and get locked. A sign flips from open to closed. Denying him access, denying him answers, denying him understanding. He tries to let his body relax, to go slack, to just let go like the voice told him to. He tries to empty his brain, to go easy, to let himself be taken by the waves. 

Hongjoong tries to wake up from his dream, only to realize he isn’t asleep at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Consider dropping some kudos and a comment!
> 
> [ twitter](http://twitter.com/dreaminahero)|[ curiosity killed the cat](https://curiouscat.me/lertsek)


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